


Live/Survive

by gamerpain



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-26 17:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20030755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerpain/pseuds/gamerpain
Summary: Dwight's been in this game for a long time. The line between living and surviving inevitably becomes blurred.





	Live/Survive

Look, Dwight’s been in this business a _long_ time. The newest survivor to join their ranks—Jeff, his name is, as Dwight recalls, comes in from the year 2019. Dwight thinks about this a lot.

Of course, he doesn’t think about this as he hears the _swish_ of the Nightmare’s claws behind is back, feels them barely tear through the thin fabric of the hundredth shirt he’s taken from some bizarre location they’ve turned up at. Distantly, his mind tells him that this freak’s name is _Freddy_, that he should be humanising him, to feel more at home. Dwight thinks that’s bullshit.

Dwight calls _Freddy_ the Nightmare, because if he doesn’t, he thinks he might go fucking insane.

Dwight comes out of trials with the Nightmare feeling awake, but not rested. Never rested. He feels antsy, alert—but never, _never _rested.

He hasn’t felt rested in a long, _long_ time. He sits around the campfire with all the other survivors—one by one, he’s seen the Fog drag them in, comforted them as they acclimatised to their new surroundings, their new _home_.

Dwight can never refer to this place as a _home_, no matter how many extraordinary people he’s met here. The Fog is _alien_—nothing here will ever feel like home. He knows it, and so do they. And yet, they keep fighting, every day. How many times have they all died now? How many times have they felt the cold claws of the Entity, pulling them towards the ascension they _wish_ was their end? None of them can count once the shock of the first few trials has worn off. They all exist in a state of undeath, _unrest_, and yet cannot stop fighting. They have tried, by _God_, they have tried. Actively, they seek out their murderer, and yet find themselves at that forsaken campfire once again.

Withholding any emotion, knowing all he could possibly express is anguish, Dwight tells Jeff that they must live. Dying returns them to life with no benefits but _living_—Living returns them to life with what they found, what they _experienced_.

Dwight’s mind unhelpfully supplies that that is _nothing_. Dwight, having apparently been in this hell for three years, agrees. That does not mean he is willing to forsake those new to his hell with that truth. Dwight was never popular. He was never picked in P.E. by the more adept players. He was never picked in science for his particular knowledge. But he was a driving force—a source of positive motivation for anyone who lacked it. People sought him for advice on personal issues, because Lord knows Dwight had plenty of them. Dwight was outspoken— he was bold and courageous but talked only when it was needed. People often mistook this for cowardice—no. Dwight Fairfield spoke when his friends could not. Dwight Fairfield offered his hand when his friends did not have theirs. Dwight Fairfield was always there when someone did not have their own hand to play.

Dwight Fairfield was a protector. God protect anyone who dared try to oppose those dearest to him.

Dwight Fairfield will take his despair to the grave if it means the survivors that come after him have a chance of escaping the Fog.

He, along with Meg, Claudette and Jake, found Vigo’s journals very early on. They were a source of hope, but at the same time not. They were relieved to have not been the only ones trapped here, but the speculation that Vigo and his fellow survivors did not make it out came quickly after. They found Vigo’s shroud. His name was delicately embroidered in one of the corners, an excellent silk, a gentle texture they’d all long since forgotten. Vigo was not from their era—the Fog had existed for centuries. Dwight and Claudette let fall silent tears at the very thought; neither of them knew how long they’d been there, at this point.

Alex’s Toolbox is what they find next. Jake tracks it down, looking, scrambling for something to hinder their killer’s sacrificial progress. In the third trial of looking, he finds what he needs. When they escape, when they’re huddled around the campfire, shaking and pressed together, shoulder-to-shoulder, they examine it. Each tool is meticulously engraved, _“owned by Alex.” “_

"_I hope he’s free,_” Dwight whispers, that night. “_I wish I could thank him, but I hope he’s free._”

He receives four solemn nods of agreement. That’s enough.

Barely weeks later, the Entity starts repairing the hooks they destroy.

Right after Jake taught them how to destroy them.

__

The survivors have been here for years, and when Dwight’s alone, he cries.

He wouldn’t dare cry in the presence of the other survivors. Despite his anxious nature, they’ve been able to trust him to take charge, to let them know it’s okay to be afraid, and yet still work hard. Dwight is always afraid; he lets them know as such. Dwight is always afraid, and he feels absolutely no shame. When David King first appeared in the Fog, bizarrely replacing Claudette and setting Dwight’s anxiety alight, he’d gripped Dwight by the collar and demanded to know where he was. David King had felt_ no fear_.

Dwight didn’t have an answer. Instead, with wide eyes, Dwight placed a finger to the Englishman’s lips and waited exactly fourteen seconds until the Huntress (also new to him) passed them. David’s jaw clenched, clearly agitated, but his eyes watered as he watched Meg be strung up on a meat hook from behind a nearby rock. Dwight watched the tears roll down David’s face as he watched Jake be hefted into the air by appendages unknown to them all, despite not having known the man like Dwight did, and in that moment, Dwight trusted him.

Dwight died to get David out of that first trial. As he was struck through the middle and risen into the air, Dwight’s eyes fell to the man mere metres to his left, unbeknownst to the Huntress. David’s eyes were wide, but he was dead silent—a man accustomed to a low profile despite all odds. Dwight had no doubt that he would be an excellent survivor.

He didn’t feel good about it.

When David appeared at the campfire, he swept Dwight and Jake up into a bone-crushing hug, just because they were the closest. David had never known them prior, nor exchanged a proper word with them, but their hearts were now combined, and would be for as long as Dwight could predict his heart lasting. Dwight grit his teeth and shut his eyes, leaning into the embrace. He didn’t know if tomorrow would be his last day, but he intended to fight, to serve as the leader to these unfortunate souls, as long as he could.

It only got worse from there. One by one, Dwight had to watch innocent people be pulled into the Fog as though it were some merit-less _game_. Day by day, people from all over the world were strung into fresh Hell and expected to _live_. Dwight helped to teach all of them to survive, but that didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. Sure, they knew how to _survive_, but none of them knew how to _escape_, and eventually, they would all forget how to _live_. Living meant almost nothing in here, and none of them could do anything about it. All they could do was survive, hope they weren’t in the trial with the newest killer, and continue fighting. They weren’t the ones with the _choice_. They weren’t okay with it, but they had to pretend to be.

As Dwight feels the Nightmare’s claws pierce his heart and lungs, he knows he’s done for. Only for now, though.

As he feels the Nightmare’s claws drag down, splitting his organs and denying them the minimum functionality they needed to allow him to stagger to his feet and seek out another survivor to patch him back up, Dwight feels nothing but rage.

Dwight is _well_ past the stage of agony. He no longer feels _sadness_, nor _disbelief_. Dwight is their leader, and he feels _rage_. Sooner or later, Dwight will lead his friends to the exodus they need, whether it costs his life or not.

And if it does?

Well, who is he to deny them the freedom they deserve?

**Author's Note:**

> i've been playing dbd since the nurse/nea dlc in 2016 so this game is very dear to me. i've been a dwight main since the very beginning lol, don't mind me loving him (plus claudette and jake, my best friends' mains!)
> 
> this is the only fanfic i've ever written so i hope you enjoyed if you got this far !! <3


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